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Darjin clung to ledges, barely scraping the walls of the building in a desperate hurry. With her mind full of questions, poisoned by fear for the fate of Shadi and her family, she ran through the streets of Euphora, ignoring the questioning stares of passers-by.

She reached for the horses, untied the reins and leapt into the saddle. As she urged the steed on, she realized that she had not paid the slightest attention to Laamar. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that he was not far behind. There was unspoken encouragement in his gaze.

Darjin whipped the beast, felt the power flowing through its veins and rode as if the earth was about to open up and swallow her down into a fiery abyss. She bit her lips and tried to keep reality at bay, as simple as it was frightening.

She was too far away from the convoy.

Maybe it was already too late.

Years of training and service had taught her to calmly anticipate the cruelty of events. It seemed that fate and chance conspired to accelerate the pace of the bloodiest conflicts. When war caressed the wind, the clouds responded with a shower of blood.

The borders of Euphora unfolded before her, and soon the view of the city gave way to the wide valley. From there, Darjin could already make out the lower part of the slopes. Aided by her spurs, the steed ran as if nothing in the world was more important. This beautiful creature would risk its heart, its life, to obey her. But the horse hesitated. It lasted only a moment. Then it was repeated until its gait began to slow.

Not a good sign.

The shape in the distance, among the trees and peaks, became clearer and clearer. Even from that far away, its movements inspired awe in her heart. The huge wings folded and spread, as if to harness and subdue the air currents. That was what had frightened the horse.

A Silver Sparrowhawk.

Darjin slowed to a halt at the foot of a hill. She blinked and identified the creature. She also recognized its Tamer, the same one who had brought her a warning of the dangers facing the Jan Hura family.

The bird of prey touched the ground a few paces from her and leaned down to let the man speak to her.

"Were my words not enough?" The Tamer's voice, tense and metallic behind the mask, cut hard.

Darjin opened her mouth to reply, but the masked man mowed her down. "Was this your idea? Or is this mission the result of your master's strategic arts?"

"I only follow orders. Lugalen Jan Hura felt he had to ask for help."

"And so he saw fit to send you in search of answers," the Tamer continued. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her. He lowered his voice. "But in doing so, he robbed his daughter of her Dagger. It was a mistake."

Darjin paled. "What happened?"

"What I feared. The clash is on."

So it was all true. The Ensin was right.

Was it too late? She was almost afraid to ask for more.

The Tamer made a barely perceptible gesture. He moved his face to the creature he rode. "Come with me. If the wind is with us, there may still be hope for the girl."

Candle flames danced seductively in Eshfen's eyes.

Shadi wondered if the passion she felt in them came from these little fires or from the firm conviction that permeated every word the man spoke. Although she was far from understanding his motives, Shadi had no doubts. He believed in what he said. Perhaps he thought he could tell her some kind of dark secret.

"What truth?" she asked him.

Eshfen answered her, his mouth reduced to a line. "The truth that enslaved us. The truth that makes our existence so insignificant. The truth that the people of Kenjir, out of laziness and cowardice, have chosen not to hear."

Shadi held her breath. The revelation was on the tip of the icy man's tongue. The anticipation of the words she was about to hear tore her apart. She remained silent, as if on the edge of a precipice, until he continued.

"Our lives are a lie. The Masters tell us of a world that is barely an enactment."

Our lives?

Shadi's eyes widened. She never imagined she'd hear such profanity or that an organized group would share those thoughts. Her fear took on a new hue. Why had the man said those words to her? The need to know gave her courage. "Why am I here, Eshfen?"

Saying the name was as difficult for her as chewing on sharp blades. But she told herself that perhaps it would make it easier for her to get an answer if she granted his request.

He smiled. In a different way than before. Had she not been so intimidated and shocked by what had happened, Shadi might have been overwhelmed by the enthusiasm that lit up the man's face.

"You finally asked the right question." He took her hand and pulled her along to the back of the room.

She risked tripping over her robes, struggling to keep up and follow his gestures. As he spoke and walked, Eshfen carried the candelabra to a low marble table. On it, a dark cloth covered a cubic container.

Shadi strained to see it. The poor lighting in the room did not help.

Without letting go of her hand, Eshfen placed the candelabra on the table, turned and stared at her. She was sure the man had noticed the blush that had crept into her cheeks. It was fear, to be sure, but also the discomfort of the intertwined fingers.

With a firm and graceful gesture, as if part of a choreography, the man lifted the curtain. But what she saw swept all other thoughts away. First, she was captivated by the amber glow. She blinked in the unconscious hope of understanding and approached the table almost without noticing. The glass case shone like a jewel. Dozens of tiny bursts of light danced inside, propelled by calm, invisible waves.

Shadi struggled to make sense of this vision, to search her memory for a name, but in vain. Up close, the lights seemed to take on more defined shapes. Did they look like little butterflies? Or were they petals? They certainly conveyed warmth, bubbling with a life of their own and moving in unison.

"What are they?" she asked Eshfen, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Our salvation."

Eshfen lifted the lid of the shrine. The lights responded to the movement. To Shadi, they looked like a bunch of little chicks trapped in anticipation, all staring at their mother and the food she had brought them.

The lights approached Eshfen's hand, wrapped around it, caressing it. He took one, pulled gently until it separated from the other, and lifted it to Shadi's face.

She found a faint confirmation of what she had sensed. It was indeed more like a flower than an insect. Its glow emanated from a small core lit by a thousand sparks, radiating over the two large petals as well as the slender stem.

"You brought me here to give me a flower?"

Eshfen chuckled at the barely perceptible sarcastic note in those words. "Only in part. What you see before you is the key to our revolution. It is a gift, of course. But what will come of it will be anything but free. It will require enormous effort. I am sure you are the right person for the job."

Shadi waited.

Eshfen's words pointed in a direction she did not like at all.

"This is an Aimflower. Its fruit can bend the strongest wills, enslave the most stubborn minds. Thanks to this miracle, dozens of wars have been won before they even began." He picked up the flower, sniffed at it, then brought it closer to her. "What do you smell?"

"Nothing."

Eshfen nodded. "The attraction of these petals goes far beyond color and scent. It can reach into the depths of our souls, take us to shores we have never dreamed of." He drew her back to the tapestry. Without the uncertain light of the candelabra that remained beside the shrine, the expanse of images drawn by the threads had taken on dark and somber hues.

The man brought the flower close to the tapestry and pointed it at the face of one of the Masters.

"The children of the gods hid these flowers for thousands of years. They persecuted all who grew them, silenced all who knew of their power. We fought with all our might, even sacrificed lives, to find them. We have finally succeeded. What you see before you is a miracle. And you are part of it, Shadi."

Whipped by the wind, Darjin clung to the Tamer's torso and bowed her head. She clenched her eyes and jaw, trying to hold back her trembling. She had never dreamed of riding one of these creatures. She could feel the Silver Sparrowhawk's power, the strength that allowed it to ride invisible currents. The air became solid, a support and an obstacle to be built up and torn down with every opening of its huge wings.

She held her breath and felt her stomach sink to her feet as the Tamer pushed the Sparrowhawk higher and higher.

"You will have to keep your eyes closed," he had told her after he had made room on the back of the huge bird of prey. "My Sparrowhawk will not spare its strength. If you want to keep your sight, do as I say and only open your eyelids when we are close to our destination."

"How do you know where she is?"

The Tamer had paused in his own thoughts before answering. "I am not the only one who cares about Kenjir's fate. Peace is a delicate fruit. Look away from it, deprive it of your attention and it will rot. Instead, there are those who watch it in silence, praying endlessly to keep it untouched. For as long as possible."

Darjin had merely nodded, the words stirring in her own soul like a seeker of precious threads in murky waters. Her legs pinned to the Sparrowhawk's back, she had concentrated on the object clutching her left wrist. When she had sensed its true nature, she had felt overwhelmed.

A Sacred Artifact.

The Tamer had placed it on her just before the raptor took flight, with a carelessness that disarmed her.

Darjin knew Sacred Artifacts were for the Masters. Objects created and blessed by the gods, imbued with their power, could defy the laws of nature. Any one of them could silence the most brazen unbelievers. This bracelet should not have touched her skin, for she was simply not worthy.

"What is it? What is it for?" she had asked, enraptured by the series of rings that made it up, covered in symbols she did not understand, glittering with silver reflections.

"I will explain when you need to use it. For now, put your head down and close your eyes."

And she had complied.

Time, stretched between the beats of the silver giant's wings, seemed to flow slowly to her.

She thought back to the dizzying sequence of events she had stumbled into and smiled at the mockery that fate seemed to make of her. Until a few days ago, the only real concerns that had crossed her mind were Shadi's mood swings and the uncertainties that plagued the girl's heart like weeds. Darjin had been confident that, with a little patience and a firm voice of advice, she could eradicate them.

But this?

She saw with her own eyes the outlines of a plot that was growing ever more menacing. Worse still, she was struggling to understand its origins.

Shadi was her responsibility; she had accepted it for years now, along with the extreme, ultimate consequences of that mission.

And yes, Darjin was prepared to spill whatever blood was necessary to free her.

The raptor gradually slowed and began to descend. Darjin's intestines responded to the reversal by seething and kicking against her throat. A sour taste poisoned her mouth. For a moment she thought she would end up giving back to the world what was in her stomach. When had she last eaten?

The currents became less violent, stopped whipping her legs and arms and turned into a strong, warm wind.

"We are close. You can open your eyes."

At first, the glow made her retreat behind the shield offered by the Tamer's shoulders. Gradually the light became bearable. And she noticed how different her world was, how small and at the same time huge when seen from the sky. The horizon curved gently, sharp and dark on the line of distant mountains. Below them, a range of hills chased each other, climbing higher and higher. A green blanket of trees covered them and softened their outlines.

The Tamer pointed to one of the highest hills. It rose above the others, revealing a flank of living rock and was crowned by a blanket of towering trees. From a distance, it looked like a vast trampoline overlooking a green sea, waiting for the giant who would soon use it to leap and conquer the stars.

"They hide there."

Darjin frowned. "On that ridge?"

The Tamer shook his head. "You'll see." He made the Sparrowhawk fly a series of wide circles around the hill and pointed his finger again. This time, from closer, Darjin understood what he meant. The trees on the top of the rocky outcrop were thinning near the highest peak. She thought she saw something. A light? A glimmer?

"It's a sunken Watchtower."

Darjin bit the inside of her mouth. She should have seen it at once. This hill was perfect to hide such a structure, a mausoleum forgotten by time itself, carved out of the living rock.

The Tamer did not mince his words, and Darjin appreciated the respect he showed her with his silence. Had he feared for her, had he thought her less experienced, he might have been more generous with his explanations.

She promised herself that she would return his thoughtfulness, and that one way or another she would find the right words.

The submerged Watchtower was nearly invisible, concealed by the dense tree foliage. Without the glass dome—the sole visible sign of its presence in the rock—it would have remained undetected. Vantage points like the one the Tamer provided her were rare.

Darjin had heard the stories, as had all the other Daggers, of course. You don't dedicate your life to war without accepting the consequences and rare benefits of that choice. She had spent years listening, discerning the infinite shades of truth hidden in the unspoken words. So she had read widely, and sought the company of men and women wise enough to see old age. And she had remained silent while those who were inclined to tell, to reveal, to share, poured out a shower of confidences. In the end, all they wanted was someone to listen with proper attention. In silence.

For silence is the mysterious path that leads to the most unexpected confessions.

Darjin also understood that the past tended to wear ambiguous masks. And that these masks were shaped to achieve specific results. The past was loaded with glory, tragedy, promise or curse, depending on who was telling the story.

The state of neglect it was in demonstrated the power of the Masters. In fury, it was said, they had burned rebels and blasphemers alive, freed Kenjir from the lies of false beliefs and made the Watchtowers a shadow of what they were meant to celebrate. In the end, these structures had been transformed into warnings.

But there were also more pragmatic explanations. Many were convinced that the strange structures carved into the hills were strategic outposts, places to gather troops and resources during an ancient war that so many were afraid to mention.

If what Darjin had heard was true, then the tower ran inside the hill for dozens of levels. Like a giant well, it must have guarded living quarters, cisterns and storerooms capable of supporting the existence of hundreds of people, like a small underground city.

"How do we get in?" There was no entrance in sight.

She guessed that the tower must have numerous access points scattered throughout the forest that surrounded it. But she also had the impression that it would take a long, long time to find them. And she had none.

"You, Darjin. You will be the one to go in. My Sparrowhawk and I have already exposed ourselves too much. Our role in the unfolding pattern cannot and should not be central. Perhaps I have said and done too much already. But we will not retreat until we have taken one last step. Now listen carefully."

Her heart leapt into her throat. She repeated to herself what the Tamer had just told her, seeking comfort in his confident and determined tone.

"The Shield Band," he called the bracelets she now wore, "can perform many tasks. Some offensive, many defensive." Manipulating one of the circles that made it up, he had matched strings of inlaid symbols until a particular code was created.

"This combination will protect you during the fall."

"Wait, what? The fall?"

"Yes, the fall. There is no more direct and quicker way to enter the Watchtower. Time is our enemy."

"Should I throw myself from this height and hope to hit the dome? I will hit the glass at an insane speed. Even if I could break through it, it would be impossible to survive such a violent impact." She neglected to mention the avalanche of other doubts and questions, each more terrifying than the last, that overwhelmed her.

The Tamer had tilted his head, and Darjin interpreted the gesture as a kind of guilty smirk. "We will get as close as possible, but I will keep my Sparrowhawk out of range of throwing weapons. Do not fear. I have a very good aim. And I will take care of the dome."

What worried her most, however, was the scale of the confrontation itself. She had been trained to seek the protection of the shadows, to outflank enemies and strike from behind, not to burst into places where they were entrenched. "They'll hear me coming," she had objected more to herself than to him.

"Yes. They will hear you coming. And they will be afraid. Surprise will help you. If you are quick, they will be in your hands before you can make a proper response."

Quick? No problem.

Shortly after that conversation, Darjin had found herself there, eyes narrowed and out of breath, hanging from the Tamer's arm with both hands. He held her to the side of the raptor and prepared to drop her down into the tower.

With a clenched jaw, Darjin looked down. The glass dome was visible, growing larger and clearer as they approached. A few moments and she would pass through it in a flash.

"Remember the combination of the Shield Band," the Tamer warned her. "Be ready. When I let go, close your eyes and begin the chant. At the last word, open them. And release your blades."

Darjin swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to the Tamer's face, searching for his eyes. But she found only his mask, inlaid with riddles and secrets. He lowered his head in a nod of approval and let go of the reins. The raptor continued its descent without hesitation as its leader pulled a dark orb from his belt. He threw it at the dome.

Then he let go of Darjin's arm. And she fell.